


her own storybook

by erraticgallagher



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Not saying who, background gallavich, bisexual gallaghers, but you’ll know, jimmy steve apologist, shameless but gay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-05
Updated: 2019-02-06
Packaged: 2019-10-22 18:05:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17667482
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erraticgallagher/pseuds/erraticgallagher
Summary: The rise and fall of Fiona Gallagher and the casualties that lie in her wake. Or how Fiona and Jimmy find their way back to each other again through the carnage.





	1. princess on the hill

**Author's Note:**

> Trying something new here. I know the prologue is short but don’t expect this often. When I write, I write. Leave feedback!

_Once upon a time there was a princess who lived in a castle on the hill. She lived a life of luxury, of the utmost pleasure, and had the entire world at her fingertips. She was adored by those who knew her, a national treasure for those who didn’t, but amidst the love came loneliness. Her only friend was a mouse named Andy who she’d found scouring in the garden, but he wasn’t very talkative. The king and queen were far too occupied with their own affairs to entertain the whims of a thirteen year old girl, and so she sat. Day by day, night by night, the quiet voice in her mind eating away at her until finally she began to crack._

 

_She needed someone, anyone, but this was a wish that died long before escaping the confines of the hilltop. Nobody was coming to rescue her._

 

_Until one day they did._

 

 

_His name was Harrison, and he was bright and sunny in contrast to the darkness the princess had begun to harbor. He was a perfect match and he-_

 

Lip shifts on his side, and a ten year old Fiona Gallagher sets her book down to pull the blanket over them both. She rests her hand on his forehead for a brief moment to make sure any lasting warmth from the fever has surpassed before gently pulling away. The fairytale calls out to her from its abandoned position on her thighs, but as she glances around the dimly lit living room and eyes the silhouette of her sick father on the floor, her interest declines. He’s been so angry lately, and it’s been up to Fiona to act as a shield. She doesn’t know what’s wrong, but her mom says she’s clever for her age, so she’s sure she’ll piece it all together soon.

 

Her brothers are pressed against her slim form, and she can hear her little sister’s soft breaths from the crib to her left. She wonders sometimes why night time seems to be the only portion of the day when things feel normal, when everything is peaceful. There’s no worrying about her father when he’s asleep, there’s no worrying about why her mother hasn’t left her bed when the sky is black. Ian and Lip sleep like the dead, and she’s got her book of fairytales from her eighth birthday to ease her to sleep.

 

Ian grunts softly as she gently stands up to shelf the book. Her fingers trace the bottom of the page, brushing softly over a sentence she’s become quite familiar with. She reads it anyway.

 

_The prince and the princess lived happily ever after._

 

When she’ll think of this moment years in the future, she’ll remember one thing. Fairytales were never her fucking thing.

 

 


	2. a game of jenga

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry, this one’s short too. I was struggling to find inspiration and I just wanted to get the basic ones out there. No jimmy yet, but everything’s going to build up soon!

Thirty four hours prior to the nervous breakdown that sent her into an out of control downward spiral for months to come, Fiona Gallagher had it all. She owned a mostly successful apartment building, had a decent man, money. She thinks maybe it’s because she got comfortable that it fell apart with the push of a pin.

 

Like dominoes, one by one, her life was toppled sideways.

 

Sometimes she’s convinced from the moment she was born her path has been laid out by a child with a Jenga set. She knows now to be worried when a series of happy or rewarding events have transpired because it’s always followed by destruction. Destruction that inevitably pulls her down farther and farther each time, pulling her so deep into the ground that she’s sure one day she’ll just never resurface. But she always does because that’s all she knows how to do.

 

 

So when she finds out her investment was for nothing, the decent man in her life is actually married with a child, and loses all of her money, the fall is expected. But it’s different this time because she was so close to finally being able to breathe. No more stressing about money because she would’ve been earning it by the barrels.

 

She was a Gallagher, though, through and through and so naturally, the dream was crushed. She wonders if it’s the genetics or if her godforsaken dead relatives have been fucking with them this whole time for the kicks. Her parents would’ve deserved it.

 

Frank and Monica? The worst. The most selfish human beings she’s ever met, and she’s encountered more than enough in her twenty eight years. She was fifteen years old when she was forced to drop out of school because Mommy went off the rails and left them all to starve. Dear old Daddy was torn up over Monica’s sudden departure and became a selfish beast, leaving Fiona to play the parent when she was still a teenager herself. It was this toxic concoction that brought her to a startling conclusion: it was eat or be eaten. And she refused to let her monstrous parents feast on the happy memories her siblings could still have.

 

So she stepped up, gave them as much as she could, worked so hard some nights she would come home crying because it wasn’t fair. Regardless of the difficulties and hardships, she channeled her anger into energy that would keep her siblings afloat for years to come. Lip and Ian pitched in as often as they could, and Debbie brought in her own share before Carl was able to join in as well, and somehow it worked. It worked for years. Even when things were tough, they were all still okay.

 

 

 

 

She thinks back to a time before she loathed herself and finds the memories are scarce. She can pinpoint when her self hatred flared into a burning hell that she’s never been able to escape, and it all goes back to Liam and to the cocaine and to her own fucking stupidity. Maybe this is why her crashes are so much more powerful than her flights, maybe this is why she’s no longer surprised that with happiness comes defeat immediately after. Because it’s all so goddamn familiar to her.

 

She should’ve been wary about the apartment building from the start.

 

 

But she got comfortable for the first time in years, had torn down a few mental walls to function like a proper human being again. And here she was.

 

Right where she started.

 

 

Broken, defeated, unbathed, and a little tipsy at three in the afternoon.

 

What a fucking joke.

 

 

Her hands are shaky when she runs a finger over the dusty tv, but she finds she’s shivering when she reaches the shelf of old pictures. Lip’s eighth grade graduation, Carl smiling wide. The memories have never faded despite the abundance of them, and she doesn’t realize she’s crying until the picture of Ian catches her eye. God, her own baby brother and she didn’t even show up to say goodbye.

 

She’s been so ashamed to see him, to have to explain to him why she wasn’t there for him, why once again her problems took propriety over his. She’s lost and confused, and so angry that she can’t see straight. Fairytales have long stopped holding any appeal to her, but the truth is painfully clear: she’s the villain. The big bad wolf, the evil witch, and so forth. Her own storybook, and she’s become the fucking villain.

 

_____

 

 

It’s around midnight when Fiona wakes up covered in drool and cotton. One eye blinks open, and she realizes someone’s tossed an old blanket over the bottom half of her torso. She wonders if this is how it was for Frank, passing out wherever he pleased and forcing his offspring to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Debbie used to place a pillow under his head, and Fiona never understood why, never could see the sentiment behind it, but she thinks she gets it now.

 

The stove light glares at her as she wanders through the kitchen aimlessly in search of something, anything to keep her occupied. If she listens closely, she can hear the sleepy footsteps upstairs from bedroom to bathroom, and she fights to ignore the sense of serenity it brings her. As she brings a cup of water to her lips, lower back pressed heavily against the sink, she thinks maybe she did alright with them. Better than Frank or Monica would’ve.

 

She knows this calmness will be gone by sunrise, so she savors it while she can. Another day, another drink, another Fiona Gallagher breakdown, but it’s nothing new.

 

The washer catches her eye as it bounces back and forth and she’s hit with memories of a man she wishes she could forget.

 

He’s always there in the back of her mind.

 

And how fucked is that? It’s been years since she’s seen him, years and years and years, and yet she can see his face so clearly. The first man she ever loved and probably the worst of them all.

 

 

Except maybe that’s not true. He loved her siblings in a way none of her later boyfriends ever had, but she supposes that’s where the redeemable qualities begin and end.

 

 

God, fuck. It’s midnight, why is she thinking of him? Why does the replacement washer for the replacement washer he bought stir up such a monsoon of memories she’s fought a war to forget? Why the fuck is she even awake?

 

She places the cup on the mat beside the sink and crosses her arms. A deep sigh.

 

She’s gotta get her shit together.

 

 

 

 

“Fi?”

 

Her heart jumps in her throat as Carl appears at the bottom of the stairs, rubbing at his eyes.

 

“Hey. Why are you up?”

 

Carl shrugs. “Don’t know, think Kelly sleep kicks when she has caffeine or something. I woke up halfway across the room with a sock in my shirt.”

 

Fiona laughs softly and invites him to take a seat at the table as she lifts herself up to sit on the counter. “So, Kelly.”

 

The chair squeaks in protest as he flops into it, and he groans. “Ugh, Fiona, really?”

 

“Come on, I can’t get to know my baby brother’s military girlfriend?”

 

Carl studies the table and avoids her eyes. “You know, she’s been around for a few months now. Practically part of the family.”

 

It stings, but she ignores the ache in her chest and nods her head. “I know, I’m sorry, you’re right. I haven’t been fair to you guys.”

 

She loops around the island to come sit beside him, and he watches her curiously.

 

“I’m trying to get my shit together,” She admits softly. “I just don’t know how. God, I didn’t even get to say goodbye to Ian. What kind of a sister does that?”

 

Carl pokes her gently and shakes his head. “The kind that just lost everything and will be back on her feet soon. We just missed you is all.”

 

“When’d you get to be so wise, huh? Is it Kelly’s doing?” Fiona teases, aborting the serious conversation, and he rolls his eyes and stands up.

 

“Yeah whatever.”

 

He’s halfway up the stairs when he turns to glance back at her, eyes gleaming in the dark. “You should go see Ian. He’s been asking about you.”

 

Her heart swells and she nods. “Goodnight, Carl.”

 

 

_______

 

The phone sits quietly to her left, judging her from afar as the sweat pools in her palms. The man beside her reeks of B.O and she wonders mindlessly if she’s any better. Her attention is wavering, shaky at best, and it’s taking all her will power to stay seated. She’s so goddamn fidgety, and she swears she’s going to lose a hand if she keeps tapping it against her thigh.

 

But then there’s Ian, and her thoughts are pushed aside because he looks...good. Better than she’d have expected; he looks medicated and healthy for the first time in a long time.

 

 

His face lights up when he spots her and she’s reminded briefly but vividly of the excitable eight year old who used to beg her to play Army Ninjas with him.

 

“Hi, stranger,” She grins as he picks up the phone. “Long time no see.”

 

His returning smile is bashful, and it’s such a change from what she’s used to that she nearly bursts into tears on the spot. “Hey, Fi.”

 

He just looks so fucking happy, so at peace that she forces herself not to ask if he’s been taking his meds.

 

“How’ve you been?”

 

Ian grins. “I’m fine, actually.”

 

“You look good,” She agrees, “Healthy.”

 

Happy, she adds silently. Doesn’t understand how she’s failed him as badly as she has, doesn’t understand how he’s happier behind a prison cell than he is with his family. Her unsaid words don’t go unnoticed by Ian.

 

“It’s not your fault,” He says softly as she scoffs. “No, I mean it. You’ve got your own shit, you know? Your whole life can’t revolve around us forever.”

 

“I should’ve been a better sister to you,” She refuses to look at him, “I should’ve never pushed you the way I did. You’re not Monica, and you never were.”

 

He’s silent for a few moments, and she allows her mind to wander as she waits for him to inevitably agree with her. But when she finally meets his eyes, he’s looking at her incredulously, as if he’s seen a ghost.

 

“No, I’m not, but I don’t blame you for the comparison. What else were you supposed to do? I was out of my mind, and you just wanted to take care of me. Granted, maybe you went about it the wrong way, but you still tried. You always tried.”

 

She knows she’s going to cry if he keeps this shit up, and she tells him as much.

 

A smile breaks across his face, and he laughs lightly. She laughs with him, just so fucking overjoyed he doesn’t hate her. She’d do anything to keep that smile on his face.

 

“So,” She drawls. “You ever plan on telling me about that hickey on your neck, or did you just think I wouldn’t notice?”

 

“Yeah, about that.”

 

 

_____

 

 

 

“Mickey Milkovich,” She says again for what feels like the hundredth time. “His cell mate is...Mickey Milkovich?”

 

Lip nods his head. “Finally spilled the beans when I saw him last week. He’s been keeping it on the down low, afraid of how we’d react.”

 

“Mickey Milkovich,” She repeats. “Mickey fucking Milkovich.”

 

 

“Could be worse, remember Trevor? Or Caleb?”

 

“You think Trevor’s worse than Mickey Milkovich?”

 

Lip stares at her like she’s grown a third head. “Kid couldn’t tell left from right if Ian sat manic under his nose for months. ‘Least Mickey knew what was what, had his shit together as far as Ian was concerned.”

 

She thinks maybe she blocks out the memories of Mickey Milkovich because it’s easier that way. Easier to pretend like he hadn’t sat by Ian’s side through everything, easier to look the other direction when she remembers their psychotic half sister nearly killed him and she did nothing about it. He’d practically molded into the family in spite of his protests; she’d grown to like him, and it still changed nothing in the long run. Ian was the bigger problem at the time, and she’d had no time to worry about Mickey.

 

“Why didn’t we ever do anything?” She wonders aloud, and Lip looks uncharacteristically guilty when he shrugs, though his words suggest otherwise.

 

“Wasn’t our concern. We had nothing to do with Mickey’s retaliation against Sammi-“

 

Debbie, who’s currently feeding Frannie Cheerios no less than three feet away, begins to cough and both siblings eye her warily.

 

“We had nothing to do with that, did we Debs?”

She shrugs, but they both know her tell and there’s a collective groan. “What did you do?”

 

A slight hesitation.

 

Another cough.

 

“Iwantedtokillherasmuchashedid.”

 

...

 

“You what?”

 

Debbie sighs in exasperation. “I wasn’t the only one! If Carl wouldn’t have been in juvie because of her, he would’ve helped too.”

 

Lip pinches the bridge of his nose. “Helped with what exactly?”

 

“I told Mickey we should torture her, and he agreed but he told me he already drugged her. He didn’t mean to ‘kill her’ but we both thought she was dead, so we dumped the body in her moving van. Turns out the crazy bitch was still alive and knew Mickey drugged her, so she went after him and that’s why he’s in prison.”

She pauses. “Well, I mean I guess technically he escaped prison for that. Whatever. Close enough, I can’t keep track of everyone’s prison sentences.”

 

There’s a moment of silence as the two elder Gallaghers struggle to process this new information, and Debbie turns back to Frannie bored.

 

“Never a normal day with this family, is there?” Lip mutters. “Fucking Gallagher’s.”

 

“I used to feel so guilty about it sometimes,” Debbie admits. “Not that I aided in attempted murder, but the fact that Mickey got kicked for it when it wasn’t just him.”

 

“Debs, he’s the one who drugged her,” Fiona tries to reason. “You didn’t have a part in that.”

 

Debbie scoffs loudly. “If he didn’t, I would have anyway. She sent two of our brothers to prison, and nobody was doing anything. I would’ve killed her.”

 

Fiona and Lip share a look at that even as their younger sister avoids facing them.

 

“Extra special Gallagher kind of fucked up,” Lip finally says in resignation. “We were doomed from the start.”

 

“Ian never stood a chance, did he?” Fiona asks softly, mind drifting back to her baby brother and the guilt that trailed not far behind. “I mean, god, maybe Mickey was somehow a stroke of luck for him. And if that’s the case, then what does that say for the rest of us?”

 

“Who, me? The alcoholic prodigy child who was supposed to carry this family on his back when you no longer could?”

 

“Lip, that’s not-“

 

“It’s true,” He leans against the fridge, eyes sullen from the sudden turn in conversation. “I could’ve been something, could’ve done something important, but I fought so hard against it because I didn’t want that responsibility. Didn’t want it all on me if I failed.”

 

Fiona nudges him with her hip bone and shakes her head. “You never would’ve been a failure. Even when I kicked you out-“

 

“Ah, the good ole’ Jimmy/Steve era-“

 

“Even when I kicked you out,” She begins again, ignoring his jab, “you still found a way to survive. You’ve never not been a genius, Lip.”

 

He tries to bite back the small smile and she notices. “Maybe you’re at a stand still right now, but you’ll get it back. Any college in the country would be lucky to have you.”

 

“Lip, shut up,” Debbie pipes up from the peanut gallery without bothering to glance in their direction.

 

“I didn’t even say anything, what the hell?”

 

“You’re using your giant brain to think of rebuttals right now, and she’s right. I had As on all my papers because my brother was the high school genius. The legend himself,” She rolls her eyes mockingly before he has the chance to take the compliment. “The teachers talked about you all the time. Always talked about that Philip boy who threw that chair through the window.”

 

Fiona runs a hand over her face and sighs while he smiles smugly. “Fucking Gallagher’s.”

 

“No, fucking Karen,” Lip corrects her. “That was all her and her goddamn drama.”

 

Fiona knows Karen as a whole is a sore spot for Lip, and she rubs his shoulder. “Wonder how Sheila’s doing.”

 

Debbie smiles sadly. “I miss her.”

 

“Miss who?”

 

Carl and Kelly waltz in through the back door, and Fiona arches an eyebrow.

 “Sheila Jackson.”

 

“Sheila? Crazy Sheila from a few blocks over?”

 

“That’s the one,” Lip confirms. “Wasn’t sure you remembered her. I don’t think you were around her that often.”

 

Carl looks disgusted. “How could I forget? How could anyone forget?”

 

“Who’s Sheila?” Kelly asks through a mouthful of Fritos, and Carl grimaces.

 

“Long story.”

 

 

.

 

 

Conversations swirl effortlessly for hours between the five, and when Liam arrives home from school it only leads to more half-assed explanations and easy laughter. For the first time in a long time Fiona feels like she can breathe a little better. There’s still a dark cloud that surrounds her, but it’s lightened up and she can see past it now.

 

Two days later and she’s drowning.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
